


Rock-A-Bye

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-29
Updated: 2005-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel contemplates his infant son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock-A-Bye

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

~*~*~*~*~*

 

He’s crying again. 

He doesn’t cry often. He’s a good baby really, and it was rare that Angel was awakened from a deep sleep to hear his son wailing. Usually someone was eager to scoop the child up and coddle him, cooing and fawning as they vied for the honor of picking him up before Angel whisked him away.

Connor wailed again.

The vampire struggled to free himself from the tentacles of sleep that fought to hold him fast in its embrace. He was tired, more fatigued than he’d ever been in his entire unlife or so it seemed.

Why didn’t someone pick up that screaming child?

He spent last night fighting a demon, the worst in weeks and more vicious than he encountered in ages, and he fought alone, something he hadn’t done in more days than he cared to remember. He’d grown accustomed to relying on his team, grown weak as a result…

No not weak. 

There was power in the unity of the family he created…and love. Something he never dreamed of. If his epiphany taught him nothing else it taught him that he needed these people, each in their own unique way. If any part of the body was missing, it weakened the whole.

Connor howled again.

Angel sighed and struggled to a sitting position. He was tired. So terribly tired. Why wouldn’t that baby let him sleep!

He pulled himself to his feet and staggered across the room, dimly lit with the murky shadows of late afternoon.

“Connor, *damn it*…”

He reached the crib, looked inside and his heart melted, the curse dying on his lips.

His son looked up at him with sky-blue eyes moistened by tears. His cheeks round and flushed scarlet by the exertion of his cries. The baby caught his breath with a strangled gasp when he saw his father’s face, caught between the desire to fuss and the expectation of being picked up and shamelessly pampered. His eyes grew round; he gulped and swallowed hard, looking up at his father with the pure trust of a child, knowing everything would be all right now that daddy was here.

“How’s my boy?” He reached out a tender hand and rested it against the warmth of the tiny body bundled in a cozy blue blanket. Connor squirmed and reached for his father’s finger, wrapping his tiny hand around it and drawing it to his mouth. He began to suck. 

“Hungry are ya? Kinda glad it wasn’t the other end needing attention.” For a moment, he stood and gazed at his son. The full round cheeks flushed with life. The heady scent of living blood coursing though his veins. His son. Eyes wide and trusting.

“Daddy will get you a bottle,” he whispered and the baby cooed, continuing to suckle.

Fred had commented more than once that it was a shame the baby had to drink formula, it upset his little tummy. Wesley agreed, saying they should try a soy based something or another. Fred countered that breast milk was best. Instinctively, the Englishman’s eyes dropped to the girl’s chest, then realizing his indiscretion, he colored slightly and mumbled something about their options being limited as he fumbled with his glasses and turned away, slipping back into his office where he buried himself in the pages of a dusty tome of demon lore. 

Angel chuckled softly at the memory as Connor continued to nurse his father’s hand, his little mouth drawing greedily on the finger, pulling deep. “You’ve got quite a set of chops there, don’t ya?” He grinned. “I shouldn’t be surprised considering who your old man is.”

Angel knew he needed to leave and get the baby’s bottle. The little bugger was famished. But he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the moment. Lorne once told him to savor the moments. That’s what life was all about. At the time, he didn’t understand. Now he did. Stolen moments in time spent watching his son sleep, his teddy cuddled next to him. Hours spent just watching the rise and fall of his chest and dreaming of the future.

Once, time held no meaning for the vampire. Immortality numbed him to the passage of the years. But now, every fleeting moment was priceless. His son’s every breath cradled in the palm of his hand like gold. Every smile. Every tear. Forever etched in his mind.

A smile whispered over his lips.

Life was good.

He thought he was alone in the world, adrift in an ocean of emptiness without an anchor. Now the world belonged to him, reflected in the wondrous eyes of his son.

His life.

Connor’s lips drew eagerly on his finger, trying in vain to draw sustenance from his lifeless body. Harder he pulled, his mouth working harder and harder….

A frown creased Angel’s brow. His son needed to feed. So why was he frozen to this spot? His legs refused to move as he continued to watch his son strain and pull, his fat cheeks flushed with effort, his eyes squeezed shut.

He gazed into his son’s face and his vision blurred. He blinked and eyes of ocean-blue stared back from the cherubic glow of Connor’s precious face. 

*“You’re not alone.”*

The room began to darken. Dusk was falling. Shadows whispered though the creases of the curtains, slowly draining the room to murky shades of gray. The baby’s face began to fade…

Shouldn’t his eyesight be keener in this dim?

Angel frowned.

The baby suckled, drawing deeply, pulling with a strength Angel never dreamed his tiny form possessed. Nursing. Pulling life into his veins…

Veins?

Crimson glistened in the shadows of his mind. Angel shook his head, fighting to make sense of the thoughts suddenly swirling around in his head. He stared into his son’s face but his vision blurred and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He caught his balance, grasping the edge of the crib to keep from falling. What was wrong with him? He struggled to see his son’s face as it continued to fade. Panic seized him and he reached into the crib, grabbing the small bundle and cradling him to his chest, pressed against his unbeating heart.

“Connor!”

His son needed to feed. His child was hungry….

*Starving*….

“You aren’t alone.” A voice softly whispered.

*I’m starving*….

“Angel, you need to feed….It’s alright. Take as much….take as much as you need.”

The room dissolved around him. The bundle in his arms melted away, a phantasmal wisp of smoke. The pain of loss burned his heart to smoldering ash and he trashed around straining to find his son. How was it possible to endure such anguish? 100 years in hell was nothing compared to this.

Connor! 

How could anyone survive such loss? The pain ripped into his lifeless chest. “My son…gone.”

A swift intake of breath reached his ears, then silence.

“…it hurts.”

“I…know.” The voice broke. “Drink.”

Strong arms were holding him down, pressing warmth and life to his broken lips. “Drink. Take as much as you need.”

Sweet elixir filled his mouth, quenching his parched tongue. His throat hurt so much that it was hard to swallow, but the wondrous fluid called to him. It summoned the demon and with it, the strength. Blood. Human blood. He sighed and clutched eagerly at the warm, muscular arm pressed against his lips. Merciful God…

*This is my blood. Drink it*….

Human blood!

It burned through his veins as he nursed deeply, pulling with all the strength that remained in his body, clinging to the essence of life. Bountiful and rich, unlike anything he’d tasted in more years than he could remember. Someone moaned softly. It wasn’t Angel…

A familiar scent enveloped him, cutting though the stupor of his muddled mind. 

HIM. 

There was no mistaking his scent. Angel’s eyes fluttered open and fell into a pair of expressionless blue orbs that stared back at him from a rugged, tired-looking face.

“Angel, you need to feed.”

“Wes….”

“Feed.”

He suckled deeply and the arm in his grasp trembled beneath his lips. The human’s heartbeat quickened though his expression never changed. Angel drank the gift of life. It sang though his veins and again his companion trembled and his breath grew ragged. The strong heart missed a beat. It was subtle but the vampire sensed it as he continued to gulp the rich blood into his mouth. The lifeline was not withdrawn from his grasp, even as he felt the human begin to weaken beneath the strain of loss….

The heartbeat grew faint but rather than pulling away as one might expect, the arm pressed closer to his greedy lips….

Until the vampire jerked away.

“Angel?” The word was a strangled gasp against his ear.

“Enough.” He closed his eyes and drew an unneeded breath into lungs that suddenly longed to contain something other than water.

Gentle hands moved over his body, drawing the comfort of a blanket around him. Soft and soothing. He was bundled with utmost care. He opened his eyes and stared into a face more familiar than his own. Tired and worn, the face stared back, revealing nothing in its solemn gaze.

Angel grabbed the arm, cut and still bleeding, as his companion was bundling his weakened body into a pale blue blanket. Wesley froze beneath his touch. Drawing him close, Angel gently licked the trail of blood from the salty flesh that shook beneath his touch; but he didn’t seek to drink. He cleaned the wound then pulled back and stared into the man’s face. The man stared back without expression and the minutes stretched.

“We’re almost there.” The voice was familiar but it held a raspy quality that hadn’t been there before. “I’m taking you…home.”

Weakly, Angel reached for the arm that offered him life….

“Drink….if you wish.” Drained, Wesley braced himself against the table to steady his trembling knees and waited for the pierce of fangs, but it never came.

Angel held his arm in his grasp, turned the hand and pressed his lips against the man’s wrist in a brief but gentle…kiss.

Wesley gasped and his eyes grew wide. 

Angel looked up into the ex-watcher’s flushed face….

Wesley dropped his head.

 

The End


End file.
